


Demons & Angels

by felineranger



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, I might throw some jokes in IDK, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Theological & Philosophical musings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28856187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: When Lister is struck down with a strange affliction, Rimmer prays for a miracle.  Help arrives in an unexpected form, but Rimmer is about to find out that it isn’t just Lister’s fate that hangs in the balance...
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

_How did this happen?_ Rimmer asked himself for the hundredth time, as he stared down at Lister’s heavily sedated form on the medibed. Despite the tranquiliser, he was still twitching and murmuring almost incessantly, as he had been for three days straight now. He hadn’t even slept. The drugs should have been enough to knock him out cold but it was like his whole system had been flooded with adrenaline ever since it had happened. But they still didn’t understand what _had_ happened.

They’d been out in Starbug, scoping out a nearby moon for Helium 7 dust, when they’d come across a huge energy pocket of some sort; a swirl of dazzling silver light throwing off a halo of surging electromagnetic power that had caused their instruments to go haywire. They had no idea where it had come from, it hadn’t been there on their outward journey, and seemed to have manifested spontaneously. The only way back to Red Dwarf was to go miles out of their way to try and get around it, or to go through it. 

The four of them had, naturally, argued about it at length. Rimmer insisted that they wait to see if it would dissipate as quickly as it had appeared. They’d agreed to wait forty-eight hours to see if there was any change, but the trip had only been planned to be short, and both fuel and supplies were low. When there was no apparent difference after the two day deadline, they had been forced to take their chances. Kryten had suggested that the quickest and perhaps safest way was to take the ‘eye of the storm’ approach and try to fly straight through the middle. 

At first, everything had seemed fine. There had been some mild turbulence, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The ship hadn’t sustained any damage. But, as they’d reached the epicentre, something bizarre happened. The light seemed to intensify, almost as if it were becoming thicker, taking substance somehow. It swallowed up and smothered everything, flooding the cockpit, whiting out their vision. Kryten shouted to Lister and Cat to cover their eyes. Rimmer had squinted, trying desperately to see the way ahead, but it was useless. He’d screwed his eyes shut instinctively against the force of the blinding glare.

They held their course and eventually felt the ship’s motion become smoother. The light began to ebb, fading back as if retreating. Starbug slipped from the long silver fingers of the portal and back into the peaceful blackness of empty space. “We’re out, Sirs.” When Rimmer had opened his eyes again, he’d blinked in consternation. 

Lister wasn’t in his seat. He was standing bolt upright, staring fixedly out of the windscreen, and as rigid as steel. “Sir!” Kryten was immediately by his side. “Are you alright?”  
“Lister?”  
“What’s the matter with him?” Cat span his chair around, concerned.  
“Can you see?” Lister breathed. “Can you see it?”  
“See what?” Cat demanded. “I couldn’t have seen a damn thing in that light even with my eyes open.”  
Kryten had waved a hand in front of Lister’s face. He didn’t move an inch. “Has he gone blind?” Rimmer started to get to his own feet, worried now.  
“Sir, can you see us? Can you see anything?”  
“I can see it all,” Lister had whispered. He gasped loudly and then toppled backwards, his entire body convulsing in a violent seizure. Kryten had managed to catch him and ease him to the floor of the cockpit, while Cat floored it back to _Red Dwarf._

He’d been in this semi-vegetative state ever since. Not quite unconscious, but trapped in some kind of between-state. He couldn’t seem to see or hear them, but he was muttering almost constantly to himself. Sometimes half-finished fragments of one-sided conversation with companions either invisible or imagined, sometimes groans, sometimes he almost seemed to be speaking in tongues. All of it was complete and total gibberish.

They couldn’t get him to eat or drink, and eventually Kryten had put him on a drip. He’d confided to Rimmer earlier that if his condition didn’t improve soon, they would need to start proper life support. His vital signs were rapidly weakening from the lack of sleep. The three of them were taking turns to keep a watchful vigil over him, but there had been no change.

It made no sense. None of it did. What had happened to Lister in those brief minutes of silvery silence, when everything had been reduced to white light? What had he seen? And why had nobody else been affected?

Alone in the medibay with nothing but the sound of Lister’s muted ravings, and the soft bleep of his heart monitor, Rimmer raged silently at the incomprehensible absurdity of the universe. After everything they’d been through - the adventures and dangers beyond count - Lister was dying like this, without a fight, and they didn’t know _why_. And there was apparently nothing anyone could do.

It wasn’t fair. Lister deserved better than this. _Rimmer_ deserved better than this. He deserved answers. If Lister had dropped suddenly of a heart attack or some other natural cause, it would be different. He could have understood that. Hell, they’d come to the age where a small part of him was even braced for it. But for him to be stolen away like this - with no reason, no explanation - was simply unacceptable. Rimmer was used to his life (and death) being unerringly unfair, but this felt like a step too far. He was furious. If the universe had an office door, he’d be banging on it with gusto. He’d be sitting outside with a placard. He’d be composing a _very_ strongly-worded email.

Rimmer did not have much and never had; in the way of possessions, attributes or friends. But he’d had this. This small scratchy family with Lister at its heart, sanding down everyone’s edges in his own soft way so that they all rubbed together as smoothly as they could. And now it was slipping away.

His hand hovered over Lister’s for a moment, then he drew it back, clenching his outstretched fingers into a fist. He swallowed hard. _I know there’s nobody out there. There’s nobody listening. There’s no-one who cares. But if there is...please do something. Please help him. Help us. Please._

Lister didn’t wake from his nightmare, and the heart monitor continued its slow melancholy melody. Rimmer sighed heavily, already grieving. And then a strange voice behind him made him jump out of his skin.

It said, “Are you _sure_ we should be doing this?”


	2. Chapter 2

Rimmer wheeled around, his heart hammering. 

There were two men standing behind him. One tall and dark-haired, the other stocky and fair. The tall one was wearing a black snakeskin jacket with matching shoes, and mirrored sunglasses. Rimmer hated people who wore sunglasses indoors. The other one looked like an antiques dealer. He was wearing a tartan waistcoat and a bow tie, and an expression of chronic anxiety.

“Who are you?” Rimmer demanded, “How did you get in here?”  
“The name’s Crowley,” the man told him, “And I’m a demon.”  
“A demon.” Rimmer repeated.  
“That’s right. And my associate Aziraphale here is an angel.”  
“How do you do.” The man in the bow tie wiggled his fingers with a polite smile.  
“Azira-what?”  
“We heard your prayer. And we’re here to help you out.”

It occurred to Rimmer that once upon a time he would have questioned this. He would have said, “Pfft. A likely story. You’re aliens, aren’t you? Or some creepy shape-shifting GELFs here to take over the ship and enslave us or eat us.” But now? Random men appearing on the ship claiming to be supernatural entities didn’t seem that unbelievable these days. Rimmer wondered if Lister was the only one who’d lost the plot. 

“If you’re a demon, why would you want to help?” he asked. “Don’t demons tend to cause problems rather than solve them? In fact -” a thought came to him which made him narrow his eyes suspiciously, “- is that what’s happened to Lister? Is he possessed?”  
“I can assure you that our good friend David is not in any way possessed,” Aziraphale told him soothingly.  
“Trust me, if any of my lot were in there, I would know about it,” Crowley added, “and there’d be trouble. Listy is off limits. There was a decree.”  
“What do you mean? Who decreed it?”  
“The powers that be. Upstairs and downstairs. It was agreed that there would be no divine or demonic intervention that might affect the final outcome.”  
“What outcome?” Rimmer demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley asked him. “We’re on the last lap here, Arnie. The human race is all but extinct. Now for my kind, and our feathered foes-” Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley rolled his eyes, “- _present company excepted_ \- that’s a big deal. The angels’ great purpose was to guard and protect humanity. The demons’ role has always been to tempt and destroy. It’s all about the souls and where they end up. That’s the game. But now it’s almost over. There’s only one piece left on the board.”  
“Lister.” Rimmer felt a chill spread through his bones.  
“Bingo. With everyone else gone, watching you adorable dipshits is the closest thing we on the alternative planes of reality have to television, and everyone’s watching for one simple reason. We all want to know where Lister’s gonna end up. The attic? Or the basement?” Rimmer shivered at the words, goosebumps rising on his arms.

“Of course, with such a high level of interest on both sides, they had to establish some ground rules,” Aziraphale chimed in. “No possessions, no holy revelations et cetera, et cetera. It’s all on him. His choices, his decisions. His free will.”  
“So what’s the matter with him?” Rimmer asked. “Has he gone crazy? What would that mean for your competition? Is it still free will if he’s lost his mind?”  
“Lister is not crazy. That energy pocket you passed through wasn’t just random space phenomena. It was a gateway. There are several of them scattered through the universe. What you travelled through was a hub, leading to every dimension, every realm of existence there ever is or was. Every single one.”  
“So?”  
“So?!?” Crowley echoed, shocked. “We’re talking about infinity here. Try and wrap your feeble mind around that. It didn’t affect you because you’re a hologram. It didn’t affect the robot or the cat because they’re not human either. Their brains are different, they work on a different wavelength. But Lister’s brain is naturally tuned to that frequency. When you went through that gate, Lister saw infinity. The whole shebang. The multiverse. Heaven, Hell, all of it. All at the same time. The human mind isn’t equipped to deal with that. It’s a wonder he’s still alive. I’ve seen humans whose eyes burned out of their heads at a fraction of what Lister got hit with.”  
“Well,” Rimmer remarked glumly, “he’s seen a lot in his time.”  
“He is rather a special case,” Aziraphale agreed.  
“No kidding.” Crowley seemed amused for some reason. “But the bottom line is that it’s scrambled his mind. He can’t _stop_ seeing it, it’s seared into him. He doesn’t know where he is because - to him - he is everywhere. He’s torn into a billion pieces and every piece is somewhere different. His mind is whirling like an out-of-control teacup-ride and he can’t get off.”

“You said you could help,” Rimmer reminded him stonily.  
“We can.”  
“Isn’t that interfering?”  
“There’s a loophole. A grey area, if you like.”  
“Go on.”  
“If he continues for much longer in this state, he’ll die. Now, we can’t directly intervene by healing him or whatever - that’s breaking the rules - but we can tell _you_ how to help him.”  
“In return for what?” Rimmer asked guardedly.   
Crowley’s smile was mocking, “Worried I’m after your soul, Arn? It’s a little bit late for that.” Rimmer blanched and Crowley roared with laughter. “Ha! The look on your face!” He lifted the sunglasses just slightly to wipe at his eyes, smirking.   
Aziraphale gave him a quietly disapproving look. “Really, my dear,” he said reprovingly.   
“Okay, okay. I was just teasing. Relax, Arn, you’re a hologram, you don’t have a soul to bargain with anymore. It’s locked away safely behind the pearly gates and well beyond my filthy grasp.”  
“I’m in heaven?” Rimmer asked stupidly, “Me?”  
“You’re not the only one who was surprised, believe me. But what can I say? It turns out they can’t throw you into the pit just for being a jerk.”  
“So why are you doing this? Why would you help us?”

The angel and demon shared a sheepish look. “There’s... a little bet,” Aziraphale admitted.  
Rimmer eyed them warily, “What bet?”  
“Can’t you guess?” Crowley’s lips twitched with excitement, “ _Lister_ is the bet.”  
“You two are playing poker with Lister’s soul? That’s despicable.”  
“I _am_ a demon, you know.”  
“It’s not like that,” Aziraphale said quickly. “A lot of our kind made bets, it’s why they made the treaty. But we made a different kind of bet. There’s more than professional pride at stake here for Crowley and I. And for humanity.”  
“What are you saying?”  
“A long time ago, we interfered with something we weren’t supposed to...”  
“We don’t _know_ we weren’t supposed to.”  
“Yes, yes. Ineffable. You don’t have to tell me, I was there. I’m trying to explain to _him_.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and started again. “Either way, we’ve been more or less outcasts ever since.”  
“Why?”  
“Because we stepped out of rank and sided with humanity. We believed you were worth saving, flaws and all.”  
“And how’s that worked out for you?” Rimmer raised a cynical eyebrow.  
“That remains to be seen,” Crowley replied.

“We were contacted by our superiors on a particular date several millennia ago,” Aziraphale continued. “The day that Lister became the last human. They offered us a deal. It turns out that the entirety of the human race, the souls of every person who ever lived, are split exactly between Heaven and Hell. 50/50, straight down the middle.”  
“Perfectly balanced like scales. Almost like someone planned it that way,” Crowley added darkly.  
“Lister’s fate will tip the scales.”  
“So?”

The angel and demon shared another glance. “You’re familiar with the idea of the Apocalypse? Armageddon?” Aziraphale asked.  
“More or less.”  
“That was the original plan. The Great War, Heaven versus Hell, and the winners get to rule for eternity. Over everything and everyone. But that never happened, for reasons we won’t go into. So they made a new plan. When humanity’s time came to an end, they would count up the souls and see who was more successful. Who had _earned_ the right to rule. Then this happened.”  
“Both sides complained that it was too close to call. That there was no ‘clear’ winner. That’s when they contacted us.”  
“They offered us a chance to redeem ourselves. Or rather, to prove ourselves. We maintain that the idea of eternal Heaven or eternal Hell is not in anyone’s best interests.”  
“Eternal Heaven doesn’t sound too bad,” Rimmer mused.  
Aziraphale winced very slightly, “You haven’t been.”  
“It’s very _nice_ ,” Crowley emphasised with a roll of his eyes. “Like spending eternity in Tunbridge Wells. It’s all very pleasant until you realise there’s no kebab van within a ten mile radius. Or indeed anywhere in this case.”  
“Either way, they decided to put our theory to the test. Let humanity decide their own fate. If Lister doesn’t make the grade and tips the scales in Hell’s favour then they consider the whole project a failure; both free will and humanity itself . Every human soul, on both sides, will be annihilated and a new experiment will be initiated.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, “But if he can prove himself - and by extension his entire species - worthy, that they can be trusted with free will, that it’s not only possible to live that way but _better_ , then they’ll finally accept what we’ve been telling them all this time. Freedom, with all of its flaws and failings, _is_ better. If that happens then we are granted a pardon, and Heaven, Hell, the whole firm closes its doors. And every soul - every human, angel and demon - gets freedom. The fate of the universe, and everyone in it, rests with Lister.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rimmer stared at them both for a long moment, trying to process the enormity of everything he’d been told. “You realise this is a lot to take in?”  
“We understand.”  
“I mean, I was pretty much an atheist an hour ago. All of this requires some pretty laborious shifting of my metaphorical psycho-theological furniture, which I really wasn’t prepared for when I got up this morning.”  
“Holy revelations be like that sometimes,” Crowley acknowledged sympathetically.   
“It’s a bugger.” Aziraphale agreed.

“I don’t understand what you’re so worried about. If a guy like me can make it into heaven then why the hell - sorry - wouldn’t Lister? I mean, you say you’ve been watching this ‘TV show’, right? Lister is the nice one. He’s the one with the morals and the heart and the soft, squishy feelings. He’s the one who cries at mushy films. Why wouldn’t he get into heaven?”  
“Because no matter how ‘good’ he is,” Aziraphale told him gravely, “Heaven has some rules that can’t be broken.”   
“Like what?”  
“Like what happens to those who take their own life.”

Rimmer stared at him, legitimately shocked. “No,” he said after a painful pause. “He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that. Not Lister.”   
“Newsflash for you, Rimsy,” Crowley retorted, “He’s come close more than once. When the girl left – oh, I thought that was it. One night he was so close I was chewing on my fingernails. He was lying in the bath and his eyes fell on the razor. And they stayed there. They stayed there for a _long_ time. In fact, if you hadn’t walked in, I think Listy would have been checking into Casa de Crowley before the night was out.” 

Rimmer’s stomach churned. He remembered that night. He had seen Lister’s face and yes, he had wondered…but couldn’t bring himself to believe it. 

Crowley went on, oblivious or unconcerned by Rimmer’s shock. “If he remains much longer in this state either his body will give up, or his mind will snap and he’ll kill himself to stop the visions. And it’s no good praying for a miracle. Those in charge are far more interested in Lister’s soul than his life. If he dies, tonight or tomorrow, or however long it takes - and I guarantee you it will not be long at this rate – then his soul will float off to Heaven or Hell and they win. They’re not going to help you because that’s what they want.”  
“If he goes to Heaven, you win too. Is that not what you want?”  
“Not yet.” Aziraphale said simply. “And not like this. It’s...not fair.”  
“We want the same thing as you,” Crowley added. “We want to give him more time. Like I said, without our help he doesn’t have long left. We don’t want to risk losing our bet just yet, and I don’t think you want to lose _him_. So let’s help each other, shall we?”  
“What do I have to do?”  
“There are two foolproof ways to focus a person’s mind; sex and pain. You want to keep Lister’s consciousness grounded in the here and now? That’s the best way.”

“That’s it?” Rimmer exploded, “That’s your plan? I’ve got to screw him or torture him?”  
“For the best results, I’d suggest a combination of the two,” Crowley responded blithely. “Mix things up. Humans are _good_ at that. Keep him on his toes.”  
“I’m not hearing this.”  
“Hear it, Rimsy. You want Listy to keep breathing? You do whatever you have to. The further away you get from the gateway, the more he’ll improve. You just have to keep him going until then.”  
“It doesn’t need to be _quite_ as extreme as he is making out,” Aziraphale interrupted, with a stern look at his companion. “The key is sensation. Just an awareness of his body and senses to ground him; focus him in the here and now. That’s all.”  
“But sex and pain work best,” Crowley repeated in a mutter, arms folded huffily.  
“And you complain your colleagues Down There have no subtlety.” Aziraphale discreetly rolled his eyes.

When he turned back to Rimmer, he was visibly anxious. “I’m sure I don’t need to spell out for you that when Lister recovers - _if_ he recovers - he must never know any of this.”  
“Won’t he know already? If he saw everything?”  
“He won’t remember. Anything he does remember, he’ll pass off as strange dreams. It won’t make sense to him. Not yet at least.”  
“So I have to keep all of this a secret? I’m supposed to keep schtum about all the mind-blowing cosmic knowledge that you’ve just thrust upon me?”  
“Yes. Sorry.”  
“I can’t even _warn_ Lister that he holds the fate of the universe in his sticky curry-stained paws?”  
“Nope. Not a word. Too much is at stake for everyone. Including him.”  
“Can’t you just wipe my memory or something?” Rimmer wheedled.  
“We _could_ ,” Aziraphale looked awkward, “but it’s not a good idea.”  
“Why not?”  
“Someone might notice. Miracles are few and far between these days. Remember, we aren’t really supposed to be here.”  
“So I have to bear the hefty burden and responsibility of this info all alone? What’s in it for me, might I ask?”  
“The answer to your prayer,” Aziraphale replied meaningfully. Rimmer bit his lip.  
“Besides,” Crowley looked thoughtful, “maybe it’s a good thing someone close to him knows. We can’t exert our influence over him. But you can.”  
“No, I can’t. Believe me, I’ve been trying for years.”  
Aziraphale smiled angelically. “I think you’ve been a bigger influence on each other than you’ll ever truly understand.”

“We need to go,” Crowley said nervously. “We’ve already stayed too long.”  
“Yes, yes, alright. I’m getting hungry anyway, and it’s your turn to pay for lunch.”  
“Don’t get too excited. You know it’s not going to be anything special.”  
“I know,” Aziraphale sighed sadly. “I do miss the Ritz.”  
“Me too.”

Crowley leaned over and apparently sniffed the wilting flowers by Lister’s bed. Rimmer thought he saw his lips move. Aziraphale smiled knowingly, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”  
“It’s been a long time since I had pot plants. Something else I miss.”  
They vanished. 

“Wait!” Rimmer darted forward. “Crowley! Azififel! Azifuffle! Come back!” But it was too late, they were gone. If they’d ever been there at all. “Smeg.”

Rimmer massaged his brain. Was he cracking up? Had he really just had a conversation with two preternatural beings? Did Heaven and Hell truly exist? Was Lister really the key to eternal salvation for the universe? He looked at the restless figure on the bed with a combination of relief and annoyance. “I just wanted you to be okay, not the Holy smegging Grail.” He leaned over Lister with a heavy sigh. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  
In another plane of reality, in a dark and terrible place, an aggrieved voice piped up. “Can they do that?”  
“They already have,” another voice replied smoothly. It was not pleased, nor was it angry.  
“Isn’t that cheating?”  
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It makes no difference. It may even work to our advantage.”  
“But what if the hologram…?”  
“I know what you’re thinking. He won’t.”  
“How can you be sure?”  
“He’s a coward. He always has been.” The voice spoke with absolute confidence and authority. “Everything will go as planned. The human will fall. As far as we are concerned, the hologram just has to keep him alive long enough to wish he was dead.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rimmer leaned over Lister nervously. _Sex and pain work best._ He gulped. What was he supposed to do with that advice? He reached out and for a second, maybe even just a fraction of a second, his hand hovered over Lister’s crotch. _No. No, I can’t._ He snatched the hand away again. _So what then?_ If not pleasure, then pain. But how much? He didn’t want to harm Lister, but whatever he did needed to hurt enough to get his attention and pull his mind back from the void where it was currently trapped.

An idea came to him, and he went to the supply cupboard and rummaged through the untidy boxes. He finally unearthed what he was looking for; a packet of sterile suture needles. He drew one out and returned to Lister’s bedside.

His face already fixed in a grimace of guilt and distaste, he gently lifted Lister’s unresisting hand. He did not feel good about what he was about to do, in any way. Apart from anything else, blood and needles were among his least favourite things; but if it worked it would be worth it. “Sorry about this,” he squeaked through tightly clenched teeth. And jabbed the needle into the pad of Lister’s middle finger.

He didn’t know what he’d expected: perhaps a miracle? He didn’t get one. Lister did not come around. But he did respond. His arm jerked slightly in response to the injury and he made a brief sound of protest, before slipping back into his trance. Encouraged, Rimmer moved onto the next finger, and jabbed him again. “Lister. Lister, wake up.” He twitched and grumbled something unintelligible. Rimmer pricked his thumb, trying not to look at the smears of blood he was leaving in his wake. “Come on, you can feel this. If you want it to stop, you have to wake up and stop me. Come _on_.” Lister opened his eyes for a second, but they soon glazed over and closed again. Rimmer ground his teeth. This wasn’t working. It wasn’t enough.

He summoned up all of his courage and determination and desperation, and steeled himself to do something he could hardly stand to even think about. “Lister. Wake _up_.” He shoved the needle under Lister’s fingernail.

Lister’s eyes flew open with a cry of pain and finally focused on him. “Yes!” Rimmer cawed.  
“Ah!” Lister tried to pull his hand away. “What...what the…?” He was clearly disoriented and woozy, but he was finally conscious after days of unresponsiveness. Rimmer held tight to his flailing arm, holding the needle in place. “Lister, can you see me? Can you hear me?”  
“What’s happening? Where am I?”  
“You’re on Red Dwarf. You’re safe.”  
“Who are they?”  
“Who?” Rimmer turned, wondering if their strange visitors had returned. There was no-one there.

“It just keeps going,” Lister panted out breathlessly. He was trembling violently, his eyes wide and wild. “The desert stretches to infinity and there’s no end.”  
“There’s no desert,” Rimmer told him. “There’s no-one else. Just you and me here in the medibay.” He realised Lister’s mind was still untethered; here but not here. This wasn’t over.  
“You keep walking but the red mountains are always behind you. The light is always ahead. There’s no way out.” Lister’s expression was dazed, his gaze fixed someplace else as he started to slip away again. Sickened and dismayed by what he was doing, Rimmer pushed the needle in further and Lister screamed, sitting bolt upright. Rimmer tried to steady him, mindful of the drip still attached to his arm.  
“It’s okay. Stay where the pain is, Lister. Can you hear me? The pain is your way back.”

Their eyes locked and with a rush of relief Rimmer realised Lister was finally actually seeing him. “Fuck!” Lister choked out, his eyes tearing up. “Smeg. It hurts.”  
“Yes. Fuck. Smeg. I _know_ it hurts. Listen to your body. Listen to the pain. The pain is real. Everything else, all that other stuff, is just dreams.”  
“Ugh…” Lister’s eyes started to cloud over and Rimmer quickly used his free hand to slap him sharply. “No. Don’t drift away from me. You’re here. You are _here_.” He grabbed the back of Lister’s neck and pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Stay_ here. Stay with me. Don’t run from the pain, run towards it.”

“What is going on?” Kryten’s appalled voice rang through the air. “Mister Rimmer, what are you doing?”  
“Kryten, get a curry in here now.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me, you worthless piece of scrap! Find the nearest vending machine and get a hot curry in here stat!” _Pleasure and pain. Pleasure and pain. Mix it up. The key is sensation._

Letting go of Lister for a minute, Rimmer ran to the cold store and grabbed an ice pack. He pulled the needle out from Lister’s bleeding finger and placed the pack on it. He hissed sharply through his teeth. “Feel that?” Rimmer encouraged. “Cold. Freezing cold.” He put the ice pack on the back of Lister’s neck and felt him start shivering again.  
“I d-don’t understand what’s hap-p-pening,” Lister stammered through chattering teeth.  
“You’re waking up, that’s all. You’ve been asleep and you’ve been dreaming, but now you’re awake and you have to _stay_ awake.”

Kryten raced back in with a steaming foil tray and Rimmer snatched it and waved it under Lister’s nose. He saw his eyes dilate and stifled a laugh. _I knew it. Better than sex._ “Open wide.” He spooned a forkful of chicken vindaloo into Lister’s mouth. “Hot. Spicy. Yummy.”  
“Mmmm,” Lister agreed weakly. He swallowed. “Good.” Rimmer fed him another spoonful.

Kryten watched, dumbfounded. “Mister Rimmer, what did you do?”  
Rimmer didn’t turn around, still concentrating on keeping Lister’s attention with the curry. “I just...reminded him where his body was.”  
“What on earth gave you that idea?”  
Rimmer took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I couldn’t tell you. Call it divine inspiration.” Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked up. The flowers by Lister’s bed were no longer wilting. They stood lush and upright, and new flower buds had appeared. It might have been his imagination, but it looked like they were shaking slightly.

  
Over the following twenty-four hours, the three of them took turns to sit with Lister, trying to keep him awake and distracted. When he finally crashed and fell asleep, it was real sleep. His brainwaves were still dancing, suggesting vivid dreams, and he murmured occasionally, but the medi-computer confirmed that he was in genuine restorative sleep for the first time since they’d returned to the ship. In the days that followed, his mind continued to slip in and out of focus, sometimes sinking back into a trance-like state, other times seeming to hallucinate. It took another three days before Lister was fully centred in time and place. Rimmer remembered what Crowley had told him, that the further away they got from the gateway, the more Lister would improve. So far everything his bizarre benefactors had said to him had turned out to be true; which both relieved and terrified him in equal measure.

When Lister was finally ready to leave the medibay - drawn and weary but reliably lucid - Rimmer risked asking him a potentially dangerous question. “Do you remember any of what you saw?”  
Lister calmly shook his head. “I don’t really remember anything, man. Just the light.”  
“Well,” Rimmer felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief, “perhaps that’s for the best.” It seemed this was something else the visitors had been right about. And did he even really _want_ to know what Lister had seen? Did he want to know what lay at the most terrifying edges of the universe, at the beginning and end of everything? Did he really want to know anything else that would make this more dauntingly, horrifically, _real?_

He did his best to put it out of his mind; to focus on Lister and returning to whatever passed for normality in their odd little world. But sometimes when he lay awake at night, he heard Lister’s voice again in his head, repeating the same words over and over. And they made him shiver. _The desert stretches to infinity and there’s no end... There’s no way out..._


	5. Chapter 5

Life on the ship went back to normal. At least, on the face of things. 

Rimmer found himself watching Lister more closely; monitoring his shifting moods, his ups and downs, far more attentively. On the surface he seemed as broadly cheery as he ever had. The brief periods of melancholy passed over as swiftly as storm clouds, and always gave way again to sunny optimism in due course. Rimmer tried not to let the dark days scare him. Emotions were part and parcel of being human, and Lister was no exception. Everyone felt sad sometimes, and he had more reason than most. It was perfectly natural. But Crowley’s words still haunted him. _He’s come close more than once._

It had been enough pressure when Holly chose him to protect the last human‘s sanity. Now he’d been charged with another even more important responsibility: to protect his soul. And apparently, by extension, _every_ soul. Sometimes he still questioned his own sanity. If it hadn’t been for that vase of flowers in the medibay, he might have already put his supernatural encounter down to a stress-induced hallucination. But Rimmer had never been religious, and had never put his faith in any deity, or any belief system, so why would his brain have created such a narrative? And why would it have created the two characters who had appeared to him? There were other more familiar names he would have more readily associated with angels - Michael, Gabriel etc - so why would his brain have come up with something he couldn’t even smegging pronounce?

It wasn’t even as if he could talk to anyone else about what had happened. Lister couldn’t know, and Kryten and Cat would have dismissed the story as sheer insanity. And who could blame them? 

Whenever the frustration and the philosophical questions dogging him became too much, he retreated to the old recreation suite. His crewmates seemed to have either forgotten its existence or simply didn’t care, and among the deserted cooking benches, rusty sewing machines and dusty pottery wheels, he had found a safe haven. Undisturbed with an ancient stash of art supplies, he worked out his warring feelings with paint and clay. It brought back memories of his youth, hiding from his brothers and other bullies in the art room at school; only now what he was trying to escape was the turmoil in his own mind.

One evening in the sleeping quarters, he was sitting at the table reading when Lister let out a sudden cry behind him. “Ah! Jesus!”  
Rimmer jumped, startled, and whipped round. “What? What?”  
“I burned my finger getting my curry outta the microwave.” Lister was standing next to the counter, shaking his hand. He put the wounded finger in his mouth and sucked it with a scowl.   
Rimmer twitched with agitation, “You gave me a fright. I’ve lost my place now.”  
“Oh, so sorry, man!” Lister retorted sarcastically. “I’ll suffer in silence next time.”  
“And don’t say that!”  
“Say what?”  
“You know. The J word.”  
“Are you serious? Rimmer, you were all set to hold the dude’s schlong not that long ago.”  
“Well, it wasn’t really him in the end, was it? And _someone_ had to do it. Anyway, it’s disrespectful.”  
“You’re very touchy suddenly considering some of the smeg I’ve heard you come out with over the years regarding ‘him off the bible’,” Lister remarked. “Have you converted?”

Rimmer squirmed awkwardly and picked up his book again. “Never mind. Force of habit, that’s all.”  
“Oh, yeah. Your parents were into that whole 7th day advent hoppists thing, right?” Lister sat down opposite him with his curry, and put his feet up on the table.  
“Yes.”  
“I didn’t think you bought into it.”  
“I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. It was ridiculous.”  
“But…?”  
“I don’t even know how much _they_ bought into it, to be perfectly honest; Mother anyway. It was another of my father’s obsessions. I think he snapped somehow, to tell you the truth.”  
“What do you mean ‘snapped’? From what you’ve told me over the years, he sounds like he was born snapped.”  
“He was always nuttier than a squirrel’s pantry, but the religious stuff didn’t start until I was about eight. And it came on suddenly.” 

Rimmer reluctantly cast his mind back. “There was...an incident with my brother Frank. He was playing rugby with John and Howard in the garden and ended up smashing a window in the conservatory. I was upstairs in my room, thank smeg, and well out of it. But I heard the sound of the breaking glass and looked out to see what was going on. Father went _ballistic_. Of course the other two didn’t hesitate in pointing the finger of blame. For all that ‘three musketeers’ smeg, it was always every man for himself where Father’s rages were concerned.” Rimmer shook his head in disgust. “He completely lost it. He beat him black and blue, right there on the lawn. He only stopped when Mother finally intervened - and believe me, _that_ was rare enough in itself that we knew it was bad. I remember Frank sobbing on the ground and Father standing over him, his face purple with fury, still panting from the effort. Then he just turned around and went back into the house and I heard the door to his study slam. He didn’t come out until the next day. It seems while he was in there, he found God.”  
“You must have been terrified,” Lister said softly.  
“Not really,” Rimmer shrugged. “I mean, it was a bit frightening, but Father had _always_ been frightening. I think at the time I was mostly just glad that for once it wasn’t me.”

Lister stirred his curry pensively. “Do you think it was guilt about what he’d done that made him turn to religion?”  
“I don’t know. Probably not. It’s not like he suddenly became Mr Warm And Fuzzy. He certainly never apologised for anything. But... looking back, I don’t think he ever hit any of us again after that. He was still a total bastard, but at least he wasn’t violent. I’m not sure guilt had anything to do with it though. If I had to guess, I’d say he realised how close he’d come to exposing himself, exposing our family for what it was. If anyone had seen Frank’s injuries, it would have been impossible to explain away. He knew he’d crossed a line, and so he retreated back into the safest, most respectable disguise he could think of.”

Rattled by the memory, Rimmer changed the subject. “What about you? You say you’re not religious but you always wear that cross.”  
“This?” Lister’s hand went to his neck. “It was my grandmother’s, that’s all.”  
“Was she religious?”  
“I don’t think so. Not really. We never went to church but she was very active in our community. She was involved in a lot of local charities. I think she was religious in deed rather than word, if that makes sense.”  
“Sort of the opposite of my parents then.”  
Lister smiled sadly, “I suppose so, yeah. I don’t know if she had anything to do with naming me. David’s a biblical name, isn’t it?”  
“It is. I don’t believe a single chord you’ve ever played has pleased the Lord though.”  
Lister glared at him, and ignored the comment. “Either way, I guess I followed her example. I don’t have much truck with organised religion but I do my best to be a good person, on my own terms. Not anyone else’s.”  
“But what if you’re wrong?” Rimmer asked anxiously. “What if your terms aren’t the right ones? Or they aren’t enough?”  
Lister seemed surprised, either by the question itself or by the rare sincerity in Rimmer’s voice. “That’s the risk you take,” he explained with a gentle shrug. “It’s the risk _everyone_ takes, whatever path you choose, whatever religion you follow. What if you’re wrong? That’s what having faith means. That’s what it means to _believe_ in something.”  
“And what do you believe in?”  
Lister paused for a moment to think before answering as honestly as he could.

“Me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Rimmer entered the sleeping quarters and found Lister sitting at the table, staring blankly into empty space. He immediately tensed. “Lister? Are you okay?” He did not reply. Rimmer darted to his side, his heart racing. _No. No. Not again._ He shook him frantically. “Lister! Answer me!” There was no response. “This can’t be happening,” Rimmer whispered, dismayed. It had been over a year. The gateway was far behind them. How had it pulled Lister back under its influence? It was impossible. He drew back his arm and gave him a ringing slap. “Wake up!” It had no effect, other than to leave Lister’s cheek pink. Panic started to flood his system.

_What if you can’t bring him back this time? What if he’s lost for good? Lost in the desert with no way out…_

“You have to wake him up.”   
Rimmer spun around to see the angel and the demon behind him once again. “Do whatever it takes,” Crowley said.  
“Help me!” he demanded desperately.  
“We can’t. We can’t do anything,” the angel replied. “You’re the only one who can save him.”  
“Remember what we told you before,” Crowley reminded him with a devilish smile.  
“I tried! It’s not working!”  
“Then maybe it’s time to try something _else?_ ” Crowley suggested, raising an eyebrow.

 _Sex and pain work best._ Rimmer gulped as the words echoed in his memory.  
“You know what you have to do,” Crowley told him.  
“I can’t.” Rimmer trembled at the thought. “I can’t do that.”  
“The universe needs him. And he needs you,” the angel said softly.  
“Aziraphale, you old romantic. Just cut to the chase. You know exactly what Listy really needs.” Crowley was smirking now. He cast a meaningful glance at Rimmer. “What they _both_ need.”  
“But I...I…” Rimmer couldn’t even form words.  
“It’s the only way,” Aziraphale told him gently. “Do it. Save him.”

His heart in his throat, Rimmer leaned over and kissed Lister’s warm lips. They felt soft and wonderful. He gently took his face in his hands and kissed him again. “Lister,” he murmured. “Lister, wake up.”

Next thing he knew they were in bed together, and Lister was naked beneath him, and he was naked too, and he was inside him, staring down into those dark compelling eyes as he made love to him, and it felt so good. Already Rimmer was on the edge, every nerve pulsing and singing. Lister gazed up at him, and Rimmer could see flames flickering in his eyes. 

“Join me,” he whispered, and the voice was Lister’s but _more_ somehow; like a billion Listers all speaking at once. “Join me in the desert. It is beautiful and terrible and infinite.”  
“No,” Rimmer gripped him tighter and quickened his pace. “You have to wake up. You have to come back to me.”  
Lister moaned sweetly and arched beneath him, and Rimmer struggled to fight back orgasm. “The universe needs you. _I_ need you. Lister, I need you.” He watched as Lister’s eyes closed briefly in ecstasy. When he opened them again, the flames were dying away. “Yes!” Rimmer cried triumphantly. The elation made his erection pulse, made his pounding heart race faster. “Yes! Come back to me!”  
“Yes!” Lister panted in response, and this time the voice was his and his alone. He wrapped his arms around Rimmer’s neck, pulling him down closer, touching their foreheads together tenderly. “Yes, I can feel you. I can _feel_ you.”  
Rimmer gave a strangled cry of pleasure as orgasm tiptoed closer. “I love you. _Smeg_ , I love you. Come back to me.”  
“Yes!” Lister was close too now, he could feel it, could hear it in his voice.  
“Come back to me...Lister, come...come...come…”

  
Rimmer jerked awake with a gasp, holo-semen briefly soaking his pyjama bottoms. He lay where he was for a moment, panting and disorientated. His cock was still tingling. Cautiously, he eased himself out of his bunk and looked up. Lister was fast asleep above him, peaceful and undisturbed. Rimmer scrambled back into bed, his heart thudding with guilt and shame, and a messy mix of other emotions, his mind rattled. _Just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. It was just a dream._

He screwed his eyes shut tight, trying not to think about it, trying not to remember. But for some reason, one specific and apparently incidental detail stuck in his mind. _Aziraphale. That was his name. Az-ir-a-phale._ The knowledge gave him an unexpected sense of calm, a strange satisfaction. Clearly somewhere at the back of his mind, his inability to get a grip on the angel’s name had been irritating him.

It didn’t occur to Rimmer that perhaps it might have been irritating someone else too.

  
They were eating breakfast a few days later, when Kryten shared some news. “If you wanted to have another try at obtaining some Helium 7 dust, Mister Rimmer, there’s a planetoid not far away which has some positive indicators.”  
“How far?”  
“A day and a half perhaps.”  
“I suppose we could take a little lookaroonie,” Rimmer gave a guarded shrug.  
“Is everything okay, Sir? I thought you’d be more excited.”  
“Yeah,” Cat chimed in. “You were dragging us to every damn planet, moon and asteroid you thought might have an ounce of that stuff for months, but you haven’t said anything about it for ages. Was all that hassle for nothing?”  
“Not _nothing_. We found some, didn’t we?”  
“So what’s the problem?”  
“There isn’t one. When did I say there was a problem? I said we should go. I’m sorry if my enthusiasm was insufficient. Did you want me to crack open champagne? Stage a spontaneous musical number? Set off a firework display?”

Cat raised an eyebrow, “Okay, chill out, Goalpost Head. Unflare your nostrils, you’re gonna strain them. It’s just you’re spending all your time in that stinky old place down on K deck now. I figured you’d finally lost interest in the Helium stuff.”  
Rimmer glared at him sharply, “Have you been poking around in my studio?”  
“Studio?” Lister repeated, amused.  
“I’ve been experimenting with some art therapy - not that it’s anyone’s business - and I don’t want anyone going in there touching things and making a mess. I’ve got everything set up how I like it.”  
“Hey, Vincent Van Gitface, no one cares about your stupid art and no one’s been touching your junk,” Cat retorted defensively. “I can smell that place on you when you come back, all mouldy and clammy and dusty.”  
“What do you expect? The supplies are over three million years old. Besides, art rooms always smell weird. Clay and pigment and white spirit. It’s part of the ambience.”  
“Whatever you say.” Cat wrinkled his nose in distaste.  
“Just stay out of my studio, you uncultured fleabag.”

“Relax,” Lister intervened gently but firmly. “Nobody is going to mess with your art room. I think it’s nice you have a hobby. It’s good. Healthy.”  
“It’s not a _hobby_ ,” Rimmer bristled, “it’s _art therapy_.”  
“Well, there’s no doubt you could use some of that too,” Lister replied smoothly, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his coffee.  
“Yeah, and maybe if you make something half decent we can hang it up somewhere,” Cat piped up with a wide grin. “We can tell visitors it’s a genuine Jackson Bollocks.”  
“We can put it next to the Carasmeggio,” Lister guffawed, “and the Smegicelli.”  
“You’re a pair of boorish uneducated plebs who wouldn’t know good art if _The Last Supper_ fell on your heads,” Rimmer scowled.  
“I’m artistic!” Lister protested. “I’m just more Warhol than Waterhouse.”  
“Warhol? Hardly. Something similar sounding maybe.” Rimmer folded his arms with a smirk. Lister rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee.

“So, should I prep Starbug for a jaunt, Sirs?” Kryten asked wearily.  
“Yes. Fine. Let’s go.”  
Lister gave Rimmer a strange look, “ _Do_ you want to go? We don’t have to if you’re not bothered.”  
“Yes. I said so, didn’t I?”  
“You just seem...I dunno...a bit reluctant somehow.”  
“It’s fine. I am fine. I don’t know what you’re all being so weird about. Let’s just go.” Rimmer pushed back his chair and marched out to get ready. 

It was silly, he knew, but the others were right. He couldn’t help feeling uneasy. The last time they’d gone on one of these Helium 7 expeditions, that gateway had appeared out of nowhere. He knew it was a pure coincidence that had nothing to do with anything; Aziraphale had told him that such gateways were scattered throughout the universe. But he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling hanging over him. Following on so soon from his recent unsettling dream, it felt like a bad omen.


	7. Chapter 7

Starbug sailed serenely between the stars as they made their way towards the planetoid. The flight path was clear, and Lister allowed his mind to wander as they cruised along.

He’d been aware of Rimmer’s recent artistic endeavours - with the amount of time he’d been spending down there, he could hardly not be - but he hadn’t realised how seriously he was taking it. Perhaps he should have taken more of an interest, he hadn’t been down there even once to see what he was working on. Although, given Rimmer’s attitude earlier, he knew that it was unlikely his presence would have been welcome.

Maybe he should consider some art therapy too. He’d always enjoyed little creative projects, although his inherent laziness meant he generally kept them small and easily achievable. But this past year had been...difficult. It was hard to explain, and he wasn’t sure his crew mates would understand even if he  _ could _ explain it, but that incident with the energy portal had left a mark on him, in a way he couldn’t fully articulate. Something had happened to him, and he still didn’t know what.

He didn’t mind that he’d apparently nearly died. That was a common enough occurrence that he’d been pretty much desensitised. As long as he managed to escape a situation without actually dying  _ again _ , he counted it as a win these days. Nonetheless, something about the experience with the portal haunted him. He was better, but he wasn’t the same. 

It was almost like the feeling of waking up after an alcohol blackout, when you couldn’t concretely remember a single thing about what you had done, but a gnawing sense of unexplained discomfort from your subconscious let you know none of it was good. Obviously he knew he couldn’t have done anything too embarrassing while effectively in a coma, but that sense of having forgotten something important still lingered even now, more than a year later. He had fitful feverish dreams he couldn’t remember on waking, like one part of his brain was frantically trying to tell him something that a different part wanted to forget. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unfinished business. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t truly over.

The physical and mental toll the whole situation had taken on him was palpable. He’d been feeling unusually fragile ever since. He’d tried to conceal it from the others as much as possible; he knew they relied on him to keep everyone spirits up when things were tough, but some days it was hard.  _ Really _ hard. Rimmer’s frequent absences had been a mixed blessing. They’d sometimes given him the necessary space to cry and let the depression out before it became too poisonous, other times the loneliness of the empty quarters had made him feel worse. Some art therapy might actually be a good outlet for him; a way to process and express all of the emotions and anxieties he was having such trouble dealing with, without needing to find the words to do so.  _ If _ Rimmer was willing to share his precious studio, that was.

Maybe he was projecting, but he thought Rimmer seemed different since what had happened as well. It was nothing major, or obvious, but Lister felt it. He’d known him long enough to pick up on even the most subtle shifts in mood or behaviour. As well as the numerous and lengthy hours he was suddenly spending in artistic solitude, Rimmer seemed generally subdued and uneasy. It felt like he was either hiding something, or avoiding something. Lister had wondered more than once if the thing Rimmer was avoiding was him. But why? He didn’t seem to be annoyed, or any more antagonistic than usual. He was certainly never usually shy about telling Lister when he was angry about something.

It had occurred to him that Rimmer might be embarrassed about the role he’d played in his recovery. Not about treating him like a human pin-cushion; he’d gleefully accepted the credit and had, of course, been obnoxiously smug about the fact that he’d managed to get away with subjecting Lister to what was effectively a form of medieval torture without any repercussions. After all, it _had_ saved his life, therefore he wasn’t really in a position to complain. To be fair, Lister didn’t even remember it that well, he’d still been too out of it (although he remembered well enough that it had smegging hurt). His only clear memory of waking up was of Rimmer _right_ _there_ , forehead pressed against his, his hand sturdy and warm on the back of his neck as he held him close: _Stay here. Stay with me._

And  _ that _ , Lister suspected, was where the embarrassment stemmed from. The moment had only been fleeting, but it had probably been the most genuine expression of tenderness Rimmer had ever shown him in the thirty-some years they’d known each other. In fact, Lister was all too aware it could have been the  _ only _ genuine expression of tenderness Rimmer had shown to anyone in his entire smeggy existence. Neither of them had mentioned it since; what was there to say? To bring it up jokingly and frame it with teasing - ‘Awww, you  _ do _ care about me, Rimsy’ - would only undermine the sincerity of the moment and immediately destroy any significance it had had. To broach it with the honesty and openness it deserved required more emotional maturity than either of them possessed. Even the idea made Lister squirm. With someone else - anyone else - he could have found the right words, the right approach. But Rimmer was too aloof, and after all this time their relationship was too cemented in the performance of mutual disdain (and it wasn’t always just a performance) to make any attempt at displaying affection easy. 

If that was how  _ he _ was feeling, it wasn’t too much of a stretch for Lister to suspect that Rimmer might deal with the psychological fallout by distancing himself in the most literal way possible. The thought both amused and slightly offended Lister. On the one hand it was so typical and almost comically pitiful of Rimmer to run away from anything that scared him; on the other hand, after all these years, was it really still such a repulsive idea to Rimmer that he might actually care about him? 

Perhaps he was being too sensitive. Maybe Rimmer wasn’t purposely avoiding him at all, and it was all in his head. He was aware that he’d been emotionally labile lately, perhaps he was so keyed up and touch-starved that he’d placed a disproportionate relevance on the moment, and Rimmer hadn’t thought about it twice. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed. He’d had a lot of dreams he couldn’t remember recently, but he remembered fragments of one very clearly. It had been half-memory, half-not, as dreams so often were. In the dream, Rimmer was still holding him; Lister could feel the reassuring sturdy warmth of his hand on his neck, the intimacy of their foreheads together, his voice filling his world -  _ stay with me _ ...But then he’d realised Rimmer wasn’t just holding him. He was fucking him. He was inside him, and Lister was clinging onto him because it felt good. He felt safe, he felt secure. He felt...loved.  _ Stay with me.  _ He’d woken fairly quickly and shaken it off as just a crazy dream, but perhaps it had been more significant than he cared to admit. Obviously he didn’t want to have sex with Rimmer. Of course not. That would be...ridiculous. And impossible. 

But maybe it was time for both of them to admit that an occasional show of affection was not such a terrible thing. Art therapy could only solve so much.


	8. Chapter 8

“Coming into orbit now, Buds. Taking her down.” Cat tapped out the landing sequence and Starbug started to gently descend. As they sank to the surface of the planetoid, its features gradually became more distinct. It was rocky and barren, characterised by sharp peaks of what appeared to be soft red sandstone, mottled with caves like a cheese full of holes. “It’s going to be tricky to find somewhere to land,” Kryten noted, surveying the scans with a mild frown. “There’s not a great deal of flat ground.”  
“Stay low and do a sweep of the surface,” Rimmer instructed. “Keep your eyes peeled for a crater or something where we can set down.”

They skimmed over at as low an altitude as they dared. Finally Cat piped up, “Hey, what about over there?” They were approaching a deep wide hole, almost perfectly round like the crater of an extinct volcano. It disappeared down into blackness, too deep to see the bottom. The rim was ringed with jagged red peaks, giving the impression of a yawning mouth full of sharp teeth, like a piranha’s jawbone. “Are you serious?” Rimmer balked. “We don’t know how far down that hole goes, or what might be lurking down there!”   
“We could send the scouter in to take a peek first,” Kryten suggested. “And if there is Helium 7, we may not have to dig for it if the cave goes deep enough.”  
“Very well. Launch scouter.”  
“Aren’t you forgetting the magic word?” Cat folded his arms.  
Rimmer closed his eyes in frustrated exasperation. “Must we go through this every single time? Is it too much to ask that we simply follow instructions to achieve a common goal without sniping and point-scoring at every turn?”  
“Is it too much to ask for a simple ‘please’ ?”  
“Fine. Launch scouter, _please_.”  
“Was that so hard?”

Lister stared down at the pit, a strange feeling washing over him. Not a chill exactly, but more like vertigo; an unsettling sensation of being off-balance, like he was standing on a slope that was too steep. “Do it. Send out the scouter, man. I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”  
“What do you mean?” Rimmer instantly looked up.  
“I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. I just don’t like it.”  
“Humans are naturally averse to deep dark places, Sir. Wells, mine-shafts and such. It’s an inbuilt survival mechanism.”  
“Maybe,” Lister replied stiffly. “I just have this weird feeling like I’ve been here before. And something horrible happened.”  
“So what?” Cat retorted. “Horrible things happen to us everywhere we go.”  
A grudging smile twitched one corner of Lister’s mouth. “Point taken.”  
“Let’s wait for the scouter results,” Kryten said soothingly. “If there’s any cause for concern, we’ll move along.”  
“Yeah, okay.” Lister sat back in his seat, but Rimmer could still see the tension in his shoulders. He squirmed slightly, trying to relieve some of his own tension. Lister’s heebie-jeebies weren’t doing anything to ease his misgivings about this trip.

They watched on the monitor as the scouter chugged its way down, eventually settling at the bottom of the chasm. Its searchlights swept around 360 degrees, illuminating nothing but bare rock and a number of tunnels, no doubt leading to other caves. The dusty red earth carpeting the ground looked as smooth and undisturbed as fresh snow. Data started to spill across Kryten’s screen. “Atmosphere thin but breathable. Average gravitational pull. Climate on the warm side but not too toasty. No evidence of anyone or anything living down here, and no life signs in the immediate area,” he reassured them.  
“What about _outside_ the immediate area?” Rimmer pressed.  
“I’m not picking anything up from here, Sir, and nor is the scouter. However it will be difficult to get a truly accurate reading until we’ve landed. The cave systems will be tricky to scan if they run deep enough. I suggest we don’t stray too far from the ‘Bug.”  
“Agreed.”  
Lister seemed to relax. “Okay, bring her down. With any luck this shouldn’t take long.”

When the airlock opened, Lister felt the heat wash over him. Kryten was right, this place was on the warm side. Combined with the thin atmosphere, it wasn’t terribly pleasant. It made his heart beat a little too fast. He stepped out into the centre of the chamber and looked up at the opening high above them. The red mountains towered threateningly overhead and despite the heat he shivered for some reason. 

Rimmer appeared beside him, also staring up. “What are you looking at?”  
“Nothing. Just having a goosey. Looks kinda like Big Thunder Mountain.”  
“Where’s that? Australia?”  
“No,” Lister scoffed with a smile. “Disneyland. It’s a rollercoaster.”  
“When did you go to Disneyland?”  
“I went to the one in France as a kid. It was part of that school trip to Paris.”  
“The one where you got drunk and threw up off the Eiffel Tower?” Rimmer’s nose twitched in distaste.  
“Yeah.”  
“And did you happen to vomit on said rollercoaster as well? I can see how those connotations might explain your negative reaction to this place.”  
“No! It’s not like I got pissed before going on a bunch of rides. I’m not _that_ stupid.”  
“If you say so.”  
“Besides, they wouldn’t serve me. The theme park was a lot stricter than the supermarchè.”  
“Thank smeg for that. I dread to think of all the childhoods that might have been ruined that day otherwise. I can picture it now: dear Little Susie stepping towards Winnie The Pooh and Tigger with wonder lighting up her eyes, only to be hit with a stream of steaming projectile vomit from a drunk adolescent scouser. That’s the sort of thing that leaves trauma, you know.”

“Sirs,” Kryten’s anxious voice made them both turn, “I think you should be aware that the psi-scan is picking up intermittent life signs.”  
“Are you serious?” Cat pulled his head out of a tunnel and spun around, eyes wide.  
“I don’t think it’s anywhere close by, and the signal is weak, but I don’t think we’re alone.”  
Lister and Rimmer shared an anxious look. “Should we leg it?” Lister asked nervously.  
“We only just got here,” Cat complained. “I can’t smell anything. Let’s at least do what we came to do.”  
“I am picking up high levels of Helium 7 from some of these tunnels,” Kryten admitted. “It’s there for the taking if you want it, Mr Rimmer.”

Rimmer’s face contorted as he tried to decide what to do. He looked to Lister and saw a similar conflict in his face. Not about the Helium 7; he knew Lister didn’t care about that, and at this point neither did he really. This was a different struggle. Both of them felt a wrongness in the air like an approaching thunderstorm, an aura of impending catastrophe. Lister had felt it since they arrived, Rimmer since they had set out. They could see each other’s discomfort plainly. But neither of them wanted to admit it. 

Rimmer saw Lister take a deep breath. “Twenty minutes,” he said, clearly having decided to try and stay calm and rational and pretend this mutual feeling of disquiet wasn’t there. “Keep an eye on the readings. At the first sign of trouble, we scarper. Agreed?”  
“Agreed,” the others chorused.  
“We stay together and we stay close to the ship. Let’s grab what we can and get the smeg out of here.”

They made their way into one of the tunnels, Lister bringing up the rear. Before he stepped into the darkness, he looked up again at the opening high above. His heart continued its too-fast patter and his stomach clenched. The rim of the crater still looked like the gaping mouth of a huge prehistoric beast. Only now, looking up at it instead of down, the view made him feel like he’d already been swallowed and was trapped in its belly.


End file.
